The Game in-between
by Gammija
Summary: The pack (beginning with Stiles) is transported to a game, which is only beatable with help from the spectators. That's you.


**If you follow me, you might recognize this format from the rooms. I'm trying something like that again, but this time with Teen Wolf. Enjoy!**

* * *

Stiles is bored out of his mind. He sits in his chair, spinning himself round and round by pushing the desk with his feet. For 3 months now, all has been quiet and peaceful in Beacon Hills since the chaos that was the deadpool.

Not that he minds, of course! He loves not having to look over his shoulder every day trying to determine which of the people he sees could be out to kill everyone he loved.

But apparently, he's gotten so used to looming disaster that he's lost the art of entertaining himself.

Scott and Kira are on a date that, for once, will hopefully not end in either of them almost dying, Malia is having some quality father/daughter time, and Lydia… well, honestly he doesn't know what she's up to, but he isn't sure if she would actually want to hang out with him when the situation isn't life-threatening.

He groans. Has he really only five friends? He considers texting Jackson or Isaac, mostly just to mess with them at this point, before remembering that time zones are a thing and that they're both probably asleep.

And god, he's getting really dizzy.

He stops spinning, swallows down his nausea and rolls his chair over to his laptop. Only the internet can help him now.

First, he checks his e-mail. He scrolls past the usual messages, the subscriptions and newsletters, until his eye falls on a mail he's gotten from an old internet friend. He hasn't spoken to that guy in a while.

The message isn't something important, rather, it's obviously an automatic message recommending 'The game in-between'. He follows the link which leads to a smooth webpage, with just a description and two buttons, 'Play' or 'Help the players'. "Will you play or will you watch? Use your wits and the tools provided by real life spectators to make your way through a series of challenges," the description reads.

Stiles shrugs. It isn't like he has anything better to do. He clicks 'Play'.

This opens a different webpage, which tells him that he needs to fill in at least 2 e-mail addresses so that more people could play, as the game is unbeatable if no one helps the players. He just fills in every e-mail he can think off, because he's desperate. And desperate Stiles' call for desperate needs.

He rolls his shoulders back, ready to begin the game for real this time, and clicks 'play' again.

* * *

The second his index finger presses the mouse button, his bedroom changes. Like a magician pulling back a cloak to reveal that there was nothing underneath, the familiar walls vanish, his furniture disappears into thin air, and Stiles finds himself falling towards a concrete floor.

He lands hard and rolls on his side, hissing as he clutches his right arm. That hurt. He pushes himself upright so that he's standing in the small room, which looks nothing like the one he'd been in just a second ago.

Everything is the same nondescript grey, the floor and ceiling concrete while the walls are panels, made from who knows what. A camera hangs in the corner to his left, next to a speaker. There's no door, no windows, and the room is small, but when he looks up the ceiling is high and the wall on his right ends before it hits the top, leaving a big gap through which light comes in.

How did he get here? Did he fall asleep on his laptop, and is this just a dream? It doesn't feel like a dream, and he's only once had dreams this realistic. He feels nauseous at the thought and quickly counts his fingers. 10. He tries to read the text on his t-shirt. Even though it's upside down, he can make out the line 'Do not read the next sentence'. So not a dream then.

It calms him for a second, before he realizes that that doesn't have to mean anything. Because here he is, in a place he has never seen before, having no memory of getting there whatsoever. He was either sleepwalking, or… The other option, that the Nogitsune is back, is too horrible to even think about.

So of course, it's all Stiles can think about.

He can feel the panic in him rising, the air suddenly feels too thick to breathe, as if he's trying to swallow glue, and he has to steady himself on the wall because the ground beneath his feet is spinning. The rational part of him tells him that there's no way the nogitsune is back, they've defeated him and the little fly is trapped in the Nemeton. He can't escape.

But here Stiles is, in a situation he thought he'd never experience again, in a room he's never seen before, and how do you explain THAT, left brain?

His shoulder crashes against the wall with a thump and he falls down to the floor, heaving, when a voice breaks the stale air. It seems to come from all sides even though Stiles knows it comes from the speaker he saw earlier.

"I know what you're thinking Stiles, but this is not the work of the Nogitsune." The voice is a woman's, low and calm, and decidedly not Nogitsune. It calms him down enough to be able to breathe again.

He sits down, back leaning against the cold wall. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths.

He has no idea who's spoken, but he bets that they're the reason he's in this place. Opening one eye, he glares at the camera.

The voice continues. "You're probably wondering how and why you're here." She has a European accent, Stiles notes, although he doesn't know which language specifically. When she doesn't go on, he nods.

Apparently she was waiting on a cue: "This is the Game In-Between. You know, that game you wanted to play a few minutes ago?"

Of course. He couldn't just play a normal videogame like every other teenager in the country, he had to pick the one that actually sucked you inside it, complete with evil narration. Surprise!

"I remember," he says venomously, "Although I don't recall the part where you get transported into the game itself."

"That'd be false advertising. Only your mind is transported."

He squints. "Like the Ma-"

The eye-roll is almost audible. "Yes, like the Matrix."

"And if you die in here?" he asks, afraid of the answer.

"You die in real life," she finishes. "But I wouldn't want that to happen."

"Sure," Stiles replies, and this time he's the one rolling his eyes.

"I know it's hard to believe," - that's an understatement, in Stiles' opinion – "but I want you to survive. To prove this, you can ask me 3 questions and I'll answer them honestly."

He mulls it over. There's no guarantee that she won't lie her ass off, but she's his only source of information. He asks his first question: "Who are you?"

"Let's just say I'm a fan of you and your friends. You can call me the Creator."

Despite the situation, Stiles almost laughs. "Oh sure, I guess all the humble villain names like 'God', or 'Master of everything ever' were taken?"

"Ha ha," 'the Creator' replies flatly. "And no, what a waste of a second question."

He considers throwing a fit, or arguing that rhetorical questions don't count, but he senses that it would be no use. Frowning, he thinks about what question to ask last. There is only one question that he should ask.

"How do I get out of here?"

"Ah, that's the one I was waiting for!" the Creator says with glee, and he hears the sound of a clap. "You beat the game, make it to the end. If you feel in your right pocket, you'll find a small device."

Stiles looks at his pocket surprised as he pats it with his hands. Sure enough, there's a rectangular bump there and he pulls it out. It's completely black, one side is a turned off screen. On one of the long sides is a button. When he presses it, the screen assaults him with a bright light.

"That is how you access the messages and items the spectators will send you," the Creator explains.

On the glowing stark white background, 2 icons appear next to each other. One is an envelope, the other a rolled up rope. Both icons, which Stiles figured were for messages and items (whatever those may entail), had a red '1' in their top right corner. And in the top right corner of the screen blink two identical series of numbers: '00:00:02:46'.

As if she knows he's looking at them, the voice continues: "Those stand for how long it's been since the game started, and how long you've been in it. For you, they're the same, since you're the first player."

"Wow, I'm flattered," Stiles deadpans.

"Don't be. You were just most likely to play."

Stiles' bites his cheek. He was really starting to hate this person. Even more motivation to get out of this hellhole.

He looks back down to the screen and tapped the message icon. One line of text appears on top of the screen, running out of space. He taps on that too and the message fills the entire screen:

 **Gammija said:  
** This is a test message. Hi Stiles! Have a pair of dice.

Beneath that, a trashcan and an arrow appear, clearly for either deleting or replying.

He's about to delete it, since he has no idea who this person was and is frankly disturbed by the casual tone when he feels anything but, when the Creator interrupts again: "Please reply to messages. That way you're more likely to be helped by spectators."

Stiles groans, but does as she says either way. Barely. "thanks for the dice, i guess. although i have no idea what you expect me to do with those against this bitch"

He hits send and navigates back to the two icons. The 1 over the envelope has disappeared. Next up is the item icon.

The icon opens to a picture of two dice, with 'item 1/1' written above.

"Oh, so I don't even get dice, but just a photo. That's real inspiring!" he yells at the camera.

"You're in a virtual world. Just tap the picture and they'll appear," the Creator replies, sounding almost bored.

He does and lo and behold, a pair of dice materializes in front of his eyes and falls to the ground. Grabbing them, he tries to squeeze them and throws them against the ground. They seem as solid as he is.

For a moment he wonders if there was any way to make them go away, before tapping the picture on the screen. The dice disappear as sudden as they came.

Stiles looks around the room. The Creator doesn't speak again. He tries to jump up to reach the gap in the wall, but his fingers just brush the edge. There is nothing to see through the gap but an even higher ceiling.

He sits back against the wall opposite to the gap, crossing his arms over his pulled up legs. He inspects the device a few minutes, waiting for any new message or item to get him out of there, but nothing happens.

He sighs. This was turning out to be the most awful game he's ever played.

* * *

 **Please leave a comment and visit .com to help the players :)**


End file.
